When the Devil Drives
by C. A. Bridges
Summary: Immediately postBDM, it's getting tougher for smugglers to earn an honest day's wage. Seems the Alliance is a mite peeved about something...
1. Chapter 1

This, if all goes well, will be a Serenity novel. It will, in fact, be the one I plotted out before I got sidetracked by my "Visit to a Weird 'Verse, Re-revisited" idea, but I'm all better now.

This takes place immediately after the BDM. Rated PG-13 for adult situations and language, no explicitness unless things get out of hand. Comments welcome.

Firefly, Serenity, and the characters and situations contained are the property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, and Joss Whedon, and no claim against their intellectual property is being made. Honest.

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"When the Devil Drives"

Prologue

The planets and the moons and the spaces in between hereabouts have been pretty well mapped out these days, but that doesn't mean it's always easy to find things. Especially things that strive not to be found.

In a plain room behind an unmarked door, on a ship with no markings, transponder, or official existence, in a desolate area of space so far from respectable folks it may as well not exist, a small group of men were discussing the fate of the universe and their preferred place in it, which was prominent.

"I still don't see why we can't just bust in there. We got the surprise thing going for us, and if your boys know what they're talkin' about we got enough firepower to wake up God. Why sneak about?"

"Because we can't be seen as the attackers, my friend. Public opinion will win this war, not anything we can blow up. We must be accepted, demanded, not feared. Recent events have already shaken the people's trust, there will never be a better opening."

"Could blow up something little..."

"All in good time, lao pung yo."

"People get to callin' me 'friend' I start watching their hands," the first voice said. "Usually means either something I like's about to go missin' or something I don't want to see is gonna show up."

A third voice laughed. "Wise, very wise. We are not friends here, me least of all. But we are compatriots who find ourselves traveling to the same destination. It is only sensible for us to join our skills to make the journey faster, and safer."

"There are many of us who are still uncertain about that destination," said the second voice. "And the means we use to get there. What we propose will not find favor with all of them, especially those with families out in the worlds. We need to present a unified front for them to follow."

"No. We need to present them with a leader. Someone they will respect, someone who embodies our goals and dreams. Someone who will never back away or let them down because the dream is more important than any person's life, even his own."

"Ideally someone so focused on the goal that he won't notice what we have to do to get him there?"

"Precisely so. We need a believer."

The first voice chuckled. "Then I got just the man for you. Might take a little work to track him down, but he's already fought this fight once and never got the taste of it out of his mouth." And the first voice named a name.

There was a sound of someone breathing in sharply. "I hadn't thought of that, but... If, as you say, we can find him and convince him." This time the third voice sounded thoughtful. "I've never met him myself, but he would do very nicely."

"You've never seen him?"

"Only once," the third voice said ruefully. "Through a cannon scope, but I don't think that counts. I think you may have given us the hero we need."

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Chapter One – Unaccustomed customs

"Malcolm Reynolds, you are bound by law for the charges of smuggling and trafficking in illegal commerce."

Mal's jaw dropped open. "Kewpie dolls are illegal? Where do you find enough little handcuffs for the kiddies?"

The scene was one that was becoming far too familiar. The hold of his spaceship, Serenity. His crew arranged in a frozen, shocked tableau against armed men who had the drop on them. And to make matters as bad as they could possibly be, one of them was carrying a clipboard. As far as Mal was concerned there was never a situation in the 'verse, no matter how heinous, nasty, and fearsome, that couldn't be made a little more terrifying by mixing in a little man with a clipboard.

Being held two feet off the ground by a very large goon was new, but it wasn't what Mal would call a favorable development.

"Your paperwork is forged, Captain Reynolds," the customs officer said, peering into one of the open crates on the deck. He used his pen to distastefully poke through the pile of grinning dolls inside. "And not very well. Even innocent goods must be legally transported and there is quite a collector's market for these, I understand."

Behind him a large man -- currently being guarded by a small man with a large gun -- made a face. "For those things? Knock down three milk bottles you can take your pick."

"Shut up, Jayne," Mal croaked. The goon was holding him at arms' length but didn't seem to be noticing Mal's weight, which didn't speak well for Mal's chances of escape. He fought desperately to avoid kicking his feet as he was uncomfortably aware that it would achieve nothing and make him look ineffectual. Instead, he tried to hang with dignity.

"I don't wanna go to prison for a damn baby doll. It ain't seemly. Besides, they wet on you if you don't watch out."

"Jayne, I can't for the life of me understand why some lucky woman hasn't snapped you up. Look, officer—"

"Shake him, please," said the clipboard man, still filling out a menacing-looking form. Instantly Mal's world became a very blurry, painful place.

"That's enough. For now. If your next statement contains any permutation of 'let's be reasonable,' I'll let him keep going."

Zoe spoke up. "Might want to skip the 'we're all reasonable men' line, too, sir."

"You're not leavin' me much," Mal said. Zoe, Mal's second-in-command, cocked her head to the side. Years spent together risking their lives and depending on each other had allowed Mal to develop a nonverbal style of communication with Zoe and right now, based on her lifetime of soldierly experience, she was sending him a very clear signal: _You're humped. Better start dancing_. The guard holding Mal smiled at him encouragingly.

"Fine. What happened?" Mal asked the official.

"Pardon me?"

"This!" Mal looked around to take it all in. Jayne still looked disgruntled but that seemed to be his base state. Zoe was being covered by the two guards standing in front of the open loading bay and neither of them seemed ready to do him any favors. Sunlight streaming in from the outside was broken occasionally by passing local folk, both the curious and the very carefully incurious, but he didn't see any signs of an impending heroic rescue.

"Since when does a simple transaction get this much attention? It may be that my paperwork isn't archival quality but it's what my supplier gave me, fair and true. I been comin' to this rock ever since the first person with a wallet settled here and I've never seen this level of persecu... um, dedication to the job as displayed by your fine self. What's changed?"

The customs official finished writing and looked up. "The rules, Captain Reynolds. We're enforcing them now. And new people, like me, have been shipped in to see that they're enforced by whatever means necessary. Misspelled scribblings on greasy food wrappers no longer qualify as an acceptable bill of lading. Even," he said, as he allowed several brightly colored bits of paper to fall to the floor, "when it seems to have money wrapped in it. This was a bribe, I take it?"

"A docking fee," Mal said. "A fine Persephone tradition that I have always honored for the good of interplanetary commerce and the local economy, but one I will gladly take back if it means you're gonna aim that clipboard at me again."

"Captain Reynolds, this lax attitude towards the rules of a functioning society is exactly why the Alliance formed in the first place. I'm sure you remember the horrors that existed out here before Unification?"

Mal's mouth worked a few times before he trusted it to answer. "Yeah, it was hell. Couldn't get a decent pastry for love nor money. I heard some people even tried to live their own lives. What was the world coming to?"

"Precisely. Respect for the law will come to the border planets and it won't take a war this time. Just a few highly visible examples." For the first time since coming aboard, the customs official smiled. "Such as yourself. Let's go. Arrest them all."

The guards by the loading bay stepped forward but stopped suddenly as a heart-wrenching scream came from above and echoed through the bay. A slender teenage girl, barefoot, with long brown hair and a simple dress ran down the stairs from the upper deck, screaming the whole way down. "Noooo!"

Mal tensed at the sound. Behind him he felt, rather than saw, Zoe get ready to back whatever stupid thing he chose to do. No telling how Jayne would respond but it would probably be highly disruptive, whatever it was. This was about to get painfully physical. The guards were looking away, if he could snap-kick this bull's collarbone before the goon took it into his brain to squeeze his fingers together, Zoe could—

"Don't take my daddy!" The girl dashed across the floor and flung her arms around Mal's legs before he could react. "You can't take him!"

"River, what are you—"

River let go of Mal -- who swung slightly -- and lunged at the official, grabbing his lapels in both hands. Mal glanced back at Zoe, who shrugged. "He didn't mean any harm, sir, he didn't! Don't take him away from everything he knows and leave me and mama stranded!" River pleaded.

The official started violently, staring at her for a long moment before taking her shoulders in his hands and smiling down at her. This time, amazingly, his smile was a kind one. "We're not going to hurt him, little one. Your daddy broke the law and he needs to go talk to some people about it."

"You're gonna take him away and I'll never see him again! They're just toys, they don't mean anything. Do you have a daughter?"

Taken aback, the official stared at her again. In her anguish and eagerness River looked no more than twelve years old, a sight to melt any parent's heart. "Yes. Yes, I do. How did—" Behind him Jayne looked away and tried not to roll his eyes.

"She wouldn't want her loving daddy to be pulled away from her for something he didn't even know was wrong, would she? Just because he's not very smart it doesn't mean he's a bad man!"

"Hey!"

"But he—"

Before he could object further River smiled, her whole face bright and cheerful as a spring meadow. "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" She threw her arms around the official, who dropped his clipboard in shock and feebly tried to pat her back in a soothing manner. She let go and backed away a step. "He'll never do it again! Will you, daddy?"

Mal's head jerked up, "Hmm? No! No, I'll never do it again. Uh, pumpkin."

The guards, recognizing the end of a performance when they saw it, lowered their weapons and began filing out. Mal's guard let him drop. River danced over to the open crate and plucked out one of the dolls to present it to the stunned official.

"I want your daughter to have this. As a present from me? Is that all right?" River asked, delight reflecting in the tears of joy streaming down her face. The official mumbled his thanks and stooped to collect his things. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and River watched as the men filed out into the sunshine. "Masterfully handled sir. I was spellbound," Zoe said dryly.

"Went exactly as I planned, except for that whole part there where I was helpless."

Jayne snorted. "Works for me. No one got shot, we still get paid, and I got to see Mal strung up like a piñata. Nothing but good here."

Mal took a step towards where River was still standing, watching the people walk by. "River? Thank you?"

She turned around, her face utterly calm and composed. Once again she looked like the 18-year old girl she was, unless you looked in her eyes. It was impossible not to look in her eyes. "He has a daughter. She cried when he was assigned here, cried and cried as they pulled him away from her because his family couldn't come with him right away. She waves him every night, asking when she can join him and be a family again." River walked towards Mal, picking up another kewpie doll from the crate and dropping it into his hands as she passed. "I don't want to do dishes tonight." She stepped lightly through the doorway and disappeared into the ship, leaving the rest to watch after her.

"Ever miss the days when she was just crazy?" Zoe asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Dinner Belle 

"What do you think, Zoe," Mal asked. "Should we just surrender now? Or go out with guns blazing?"

"I'm not the blazing type, sir," Zoe replied.

They were still watching endless lines of soldiers marching past, but this time from a more casual setting. Despite all the different traditions, religions, creeds, and habits that mankind exported in their mad dash from Earth That Was or whipped up afterwards, one thing remained constant throughout all the worlds: whenever more than a few people gather together, a bar will occur. It may be a tavern, a pub, a club, or a dive, it may have a polished bar or a few planks over some barrels, there or may not be people dancing voluntarily, but it will always have the same irreducible elements that define a bar: smoke, the smell of old alcohol and older sweat, a sense of welcome if you belong and menace if you don't, and darkness deep enough to hide in if you've a mind to. This one had more than enough of all of that, with extra helpings of disreputable denizens who looked like they might take offense at a visitor's intolerable habit of breathing. It was an excellent place to do business when your business might not withstand close scrutiny.

Right now it felt like a bunker. There had been bucketloads of soldiers visible around the Eavesdown docks, no surprise there. But the rest of the city seemed to have more than their fair share of military presence as well and that bothered Mal all the way down to his chewy center.

Persephone was about as close to the Core as he felt comfortable these days. There was a hefty chunk of upper class folks and their snooty ways here, and too much Alliance presence for him to ever be completely at ease, but Persephone still had a sizeable seamy underbelly where naughtiness managed to thrive. The fanciest mansion here was still no more than three streets from a brothel, smuggler's bar, or gambling den, and that made Mal right warm inside.

Only now the Alliance had stepped up their peace-keeping endeavors and large, armed fellows in overly clean purple-and-gray uniforms were all but occupying the place. The bar – no name, it never needed one – was located in an out of the way neighborhood on a narrow, muddy street filled with tiny restaurants, colorful shops, and mysterious doorways, and the soldiers marching past three abreast plainly didn't belong. All the more so as they weren't stopping for anyone, glaring straight ahead and pushing civilians aside or just knocking them down and marching right over them. You could barely throw a rock without hitting an Alliance officer and from the look of the disgruntled locals somebody was about to try just that.

Mal had spent enough time in the war to know what it felt like before hostilities commenced. It felt like this.

They moved away from the window to a more secluded table as Kaylee came back from the bar with drinks. "Looks like they got more blazers than we do, anyway," she said.

"Yeah, but all those guns, they're bound to get in each others' way," Mal said. "Might be we'd have the advantage."

"You're right, sir," Zoe said. "Which means that if you went out there by yourself, you'd be invincible."

They gathered around a battered table where a clean-shaven man named Tommy Stove was waiting. He was elegantly attired in a suit and tie, as out of place here as the soldiers but in a much more dapper way. "Perhaps if you all stay in here they would all just shoot themselves out of frustration?" he asked.

"That's what I asked Santa for this year," Mal said. "That and you telling me where I'm taking your stuff."

"It's an orphanage on Rea," Stove said. "Infants and older children, mostly abandoned on the front step. The local church runs the place."

"They got no parents?" Kaylee asked.

"If they did, they couldn't go around calling themselves orphans, could they," Mal said, taking a long swig of his beer. "Rea ain't that far away, how come they don't just pay for standard post? Be cheaper than hiring us, wouldn't it?"

"You ain't gonna charge orphans, are you, cap'n?" Kaylee asked, shocked.

"No more than what they can afford. I'm just a soft-hearted man. Who needs to fuel his ship and feed his crew so they don't become orphans themselves." Mal said meaningfully.

Stove smiled. "Of course you'll be paid, I'd expect no less. I hope you won't mind if the profit margin's not as steep on this one, though."

"Well, I suppose we can struggle on without the trunks of precious gems and platinum I usually charge, since it's for kids and all. And after you tell me why you need a smuggler for a job a mailman could handle."

Stove spread his hands wide. "You wound me, sir. You think I would neglect to tell you everything you needed to know for a safe and productive journey?"

"I'm just a suspicious old bastard, truth to tell, Tommy."

"That's how you get to be an old bastard," Stove said, clinking his glass against Mal's. They drank to it, and Zoe and Kaylee joined in. Stove dabbed at his lips with a cloth napkin before continuing. Kaylee stopped halfway through wiping her mouth on her sleeve, embarrassed. Stove smiled at her kindly. "Glad to see you haven't changed a bit, Mal. It's just clothing, dry goods, and medical supplies. Lately the restricted list for medications has been more... restrictive."

"Alliance don't want people healthy?" Zoe asked.

"The Alliance doesn't want people buying their drugs from anyone besides the Alliance," Stove said. "And if poor people can't afford their prices, well, there's no shortage of poor people, now is there?"

Mal looked into his empty glass. "So this helps poor kids and pisses off the feds?"

"An economy of actions," Stove agreed.

"You're on. Load the ship."

"That I will. You're a good man, Malcolm Reynolds."

"Uh huh. Just don't expect me to adopt none of them kids. Got no room on the boat and it takes forever to cook one up proper." Kaylee smacked him on the arm as Stove hid a smile behind manicured hands.

"Don't be so mean to the man," she said. "I'm sorry Mr. Stove, Captain don't always remember how to talk to someone ain't a criminal."

One of Mal's eyebrows shot up. "Ain't a... Kaylee, do you know how Tommy Stove got his name?"

"From his parents, I expect, just like normal folk. Oh, God, you ain't an orphan, are you?"

"No, no," Stove said, laughing. "My name is Thomason Chow II. My interests cross the lines of legality much like your captain, here. I got my nickname when I was having a disagreement with a gentleman and was forced to make my point with a coal shovel that was near at hand."

Kaylee looked at his pristine white shirt and silk vest. "I don't understand."

Mal put his arm around Stove's shoulders. "Guy goes down like a sack of beans. The fella's friends ran out of the bar, screaming—" and Mal and Stove looked each other in the face while yelling simultaneously, "'Tommy stove his head in! Tommy stove his head in!'" They broke up laughing. Kaylee turned to Zoe, who just shrugged. Finally Mal wiped his eyes. "Man gets a name like that, half his fights are over before he even gets there."

"Oh," Kaylee said. "Well, it was very nice to meet you."

"The pleasure, I promise you, was entirely mine," Stove said, and he kissed her hand. Still chuckling, Mal pulled her away.

"Stop licking my crew," he said. "She's already got one slick city boy to outwit, she don't need another. 'Sides, you'll be busy enough working around the toy soldiers out there to do any wooin'."

"These are hard times, my friend. When a government gets angry, everyone feels the lash. But they'll calm down eventually. They always do. "

Mal clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, hope you don't mind me getting out of the area while they find their happy place. C'mon, folks. We got orphans to help."

Back outside the soldiers were gone, but their presence could still be felt in the angry glares and the general lack of cheerfulness in the locals. "Kaylee, you go pick up those... what did we need?"

"Stabilizing mounts, cap'n. They're the—"

"Yeah, whatever." He handed her some cash. "This cover it?" She nodded. "Get some and get back to the ship, I want to get in the air as soon as we get loaded."

After she left he stood there with Zoe, watching the shopowners quietly hawking their merchandise as if they had a grudge against it.

"You getting that 'bend over' feeling, sir?" Zoe asked.

"All this powderkeg needs is a match," Mal replied. "And I don't want to be here when it drops. C'mon, let's go. Might be we avoid Persephone for a time."

* * *

Thing is, River remembered being crazy.

At the time it was the only sensible reaction to what she was experiencing, which was everything. Memories, her own and others. Unfettered emotions running hot and cold through her whole being. Thoughts and dreams and fears from everyone around her, like a thousand Cortex screens at full blast, all tuned to something different, with tastes and smells and tangible terrors added. Desires. Nightmares. Little white lies. Unspeakable secrets of despicable acts that couldn't be borne by a sane mind. Having your brain busted into by doctors in a secret government experiment so they could scoop out all your filters, jack up your psychic ability, and leave you open to anything at all that came your way, all that did wonders for your abstract thought.

Really, sometimes she was amazed she got through it.

And sometimes, like now, she almost wished she could wrap herself back up in the warm, soothing blanket of delirium. She was sitting on the counter in Serenity's small sickbay, watching her brother Simon work, but she was also deep inside his thoughts while he inventoried his medical supplies and she was wistfully remembering the last restaurant he was in and she was worrying about his sister's mental state and she was daydreaming about Kaylee and she was thinking about scratching his leg and she was trying not to notice Jayne in any manner whatsoever and she was wondering what the captain was going to yell at him for next. And this was a calm time for him. During times of stress everyone's thoughts turned to raging rivers and she was swept along helplessly in the mental turmoil until something solid presented itself for her to latch on: Mal's determination, Kaylee's optimism, Simon's love, even the cool surfaces of the ship itself helped anchor her to reality. And there were always diversions...

Jayne Cobb, mercenary and Serenity's staff muscle, was sprawled on the examining bed taking up more room than he really deserved, awkwardly pulling off one of his boots. From the sound it made as it came free it was obvious to the casual and probably panicked observer that he didn't remove them very often. "Hey doc, I get this hideous stench coming up here, like all the demons o' hell are coming up between my toes and bringing their diseased daughters with 'em. You wanna look at it?"

Simon shuddered without turning around. "You might try washing your feet now and again. It's a new procedure, still being tested, but I hear it does wonders. Shouldn't you be off being fierce at someone?"

"Captain's out getting the job, didn't want to draw too much attention from all those purplebellies by having such an obvious he-roic warrior along with him," Jayne said, with some satisfaction.

"And he worded it just that way, did he?"

"Didn't have to. Men like us, we got an understandin'."

"Yes," Simon said, making a note on his inventory. "I believe he understands you quite well."

"Damn straight." Jayne stuck out his leg and planted his foot on top of the counter directly in front of Simon's face. "Got kind of a cheese-ish texture, don't it?" Simon spun around, gasping for breath and quickly turning the same color as the offending gunk. "One of them soft, oozy cheeses, like broo," Jayne said happily.

"That's brie," Simon said, coughing. He lunged at his shelves and thrust a small bottle into Jayne's hands. "Here. Rub this between your toes, coat it on thick, leave it on. Do it every day until this runs out."

"Instead of washing?"

"_After_ you clean your feet. Both of them. Every day."

Jayne scowled. "I might have to get me a second opinion on that. Cure's worse than the disease, I'm thinkin'. Too much washing up robs a man of his musky essence. Ain't that right, girly?"

To River, Jayne Cobb was a predator. His thoughts were in the now, never any further, never any deeper. Blood and excitement and sex and food and the hunt and the kill were all he craved, that was easy enough to see even if you couldn't get into his mind. Deeper down was the need for a pack, a place to belong. Even the ribbing he gave Simon -- and River could tell Jayne knew exactly how uncomfortable he was making her brother – was, to Jayne, just friendly fun. Which made him fair game, as far as she was concerned. She smiled sweetly.

"It makes it easier to know where you are, and that's a blessing," she said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise Kaylee, Inara and I would be too nervous to bathe one another every Saturday night." She did her level best not to react at the expression Jayne's face erupted into. "And if you're going to imagine me naked, please get it right," River said. "I'm not shaped like that and I have a small birthmark on my—"

"Hey, no fair, you ain't supposed to look in my head," Jayne yelled, slapping his hands over his ears. He grabbed his boot and fairly leaped off the bed. "Just, just get out of there! Ain't no place for, for... " In another second he was out the door. Incredulous, Simon started to say something but River shook her head slightly, stopping just as Jayne stuck his head back in. "Just stay out," he told her again, and left. His footsteps – one clang, one soft thump each – echoed through the ship as he fled.

There was a long, silent moment while Simon gaped at her, and then they both broke up laughing. "Was he really...?" Simon asked.

"Apparently," she giggled.

"River, you don't have a birthmark."

"I know. But now he'll spend all his time wondering about it."

Simon smiled; a wide, happy smile that cheered her. He didn't smile like that nearly enough, but lately she had been seeing it more and more, especially when Kaylee was nearby, and River was remembering how to bring it out herself. Even more wonderful was the thick wave of brotherly love that washed over her like warm, frothing surf. "So," he said, "does this mean the latest meds are working? You're more... I mean, you're not having... have you been sleeping?"

"I sleep. I sleep and I dream, and sometimes I dream my very own dreams that I thought of myself. There are butterflies," River told him. She crawled up on the examining table and pulled her knees up to where she could rest her chin on them. "I'm more me, now, since Miranda. But I'm still everyone else and it gets loud."

"That may not be anything I can address," Simon said. "Now that you can tell me more about the results we've gotten a lot closer at balancing your brain's chemical profile, but the reading, the... whatever it is you're experiencing, it's really out of my field." He picked up his pad again.

She felt comfortable here, with him, on this ship, safe and protected. It soothed her to reach out and feel his rock-solid belief that she was his sister and she could be fixed, especially when she didn't really believe it herself. Everyone else on the ship had a small, hidden reserve in the back of their mind when they were talking to her, where they were a little scared of her. Except for Jayne, who kept his concerns right up front where he could get to them faster. But Simon was her brother. He'd already sacrificed everything to keep her safe. His determination to make her well was an anchor. Still, she was glad he'd taken up with Kaylee. They were good for each other in ways a brother and sister can't be, except on some planets. Pretty bad ones.

River was also suddenly aware that she could think of seven different ways to incapacitate her brother from the position she was in. A simple misdirection, and then watch his thoughts to tell when it was safe to... River shook her head once, violently, while Simon was looking down. When she wasn't paying attention, tactics occurred. Another unfinished legacy from the Academy.

She watched Simon finish his inventory for a time, trying to remember how to just be River. She'd done it, once, long ago, without even thinking about it. How could it be so difficult now?

"Do you ever wonder if I'd have been happier if you hadn't rescued me from the academy?" she asked, trying not to notice how he flinched. "What would have happened if the doctors with their white coats and their stainless steel fingers had finished their task, stepped back, and pronounced me done? Would I be in control? Would I be at peace?"

Horrified, Simon dropped his pad to gather her into his arms and hug her tight. "I don't know, mei-mei. I don't know. But you will be soon. I swear it. I swear it."

Swept up by his silently howling thoughts of guilt and determination, River thought she would have been. Of course, she would have been a relentless, remorseless, telepathic killing machine, but she would have been at peace.

Peace, River thought, swimming in the hug, was overrated.

* * *

The Second War for Independence almost didn't happen.

Mal and Zoe spent some time running a few last errands before getting the call that Kaylee was aboard and the ship was loaded. On the way back they kept to side streets and back ways as much as possible to avoid the troops, who seemed to be everywhere. They even hid a few times, disappearing into the shadows of an alleyway when they heard the sounds of marching. They were only half a mile from the ship when everything went to hell.

A small boy ran out into the street after a lost ball and an Alliance soldier tripped over him, falling full length into the mud with a splurging sound. Dockworkers, merchants, and would-be passengers burst into laughter at the sight.

He shook off the helping hands of his fellows and stood up, dripping and furious. He spun on the child just as a young woman, barely in her twenties and clearly pregnant, dashed forward and wrapped the boy in her arms.

"Please, I'm sorry," she begged in a loud, clear voice guaranteed to break any beating heart within earshot. "He didn't mean it! Don't hurt him!" She seemed to glow in the fading sunlight, an angel in peasant's clothing.

The soldier relaxed a bit. "I wasn't going to... ow!" he yelled, as the boy moved to kick him again. The first shot had nearly broken his shin and the gorram kid was coming back for another!

Months of garrison duty, months away from his family, months policing filthy people in filthy neighborhoods who did nothing but hurl abuse. And vegetables, rotten vegetables. And sometimes bricks! One man had been knocked cold by a thrown water bucket. The soldier had heard of soldiers in other parts of the city getting beaten, even killed. This place was dirty and loud and hot and... and it smelled! And now filthy children were knocking him into the mud and laughing at him!

Unseen by the crowds, the boy stuck his tongue out. And that last little gesture of defiance and scorn was enough. His training washed away in a torrent of rage, the soldier raised his arm to backhand the boy across the mouth and teach him some respect. His was such a towering, overwhelming anger that it was nearly a full minute, with the crowds around him watching breathlessly, before he realized his arm wouldn't move.

He looked back over his shoulder to see Mal holding it in a grip tighter than steel. "Could be that's a bad idea, officer," Mal said. "If you don't mind my sayin', sir."

"Let go of—"

Mal moved closer so that his mouth was next to the soldier's muddy ear. "You really don't want to strike an adorable widdle boy in front of his pretty pregnant momma and a few thousand unhappy people, do you? Sir?"

The cool breeze of rationality blew through the soldier's mind, allowing him to see the filthy rabble around him as what they were: potential insurgents. The girl and the boy remained motionless. His troop was still standing behind him, watching him carefully. It did not escape his notice that not one of them had moved to stop this person from laying hands on him.

He relaxed. Mal let go of him and backed away immediately, lowering his head in a respectful nod as he disappeared back into the crowd. It seemed the entire street let its breath out at once. People began moving again. The hustle and bustle of the docks started up, like a paused vidcast back on 'play.' Responsibility settled back in. "All right, men, we've got a job to do," the soldier said. He took a deep breath to settle himself. "Let's—"

There was the loud crack of someone nearby being struck, a body hitting the ground. The soldier turned back in time to see a nobleman facing him, his hand still red from the blow. Behind him the little boy was lying unconscious in the mud, cradled in the girl's arms. She looked terrified and angry, but she wasn't looking at the nobleman who had plainly smacked the kid. She was looking at the soldier. For a brief second, the soldier felt he was watching a carefully rehearsed play, one that would continue even if some of the lines got flubbed. "How dare you, you gutless purplebelly!" the nobleman yelled, on cue, and he leaped.

"But you were the one who unh!" the soldier protested, and then the nobleman moved out of the way and the crowd descended on him and his men and he didn't say anything else at all.

The crowd was an angry mob now, roiling like a cloud of angry bees, searching out more soldiers to punish. Fights and screams could be heard, and the whoomps of the soldiers' rifles. Tommy Stove stood in the alleyway where Mal and Zoe had stood just minutes before, sucking his knuckles. "You want something done right..." he said.

The man next to him was bland, inoffensive looking, invisible. It seemed to be his chief quality, although that could have been because his other qualities were so hard to make out. "But it was supposed to be Reynolds that jumped the guy. All that effort—"

"No matter. He was there, the riot happened. We can connect the two easily enough. By the time this story spreads he'll have single-handedly killed two platoons," Stove said, and looked thoughtful. "He didn't jump in, though. He's changed."

And in front of them Persephone began to burn.

The ship was loaded and ready to lift off when Mal and Zoe, unaware of these events, ran up the ramp. "Let's go, people! Everybody we care about aboard?" Mal yelled.

"Everybody plus Jayne," River's voice said through the intercom. "Lifting off."

Mal closed his eyes and enjoyed one of the feelings he loved most in all the worlds; the feel of his ship trembling beneath his feet as it pulled away from a planet. He sighed happily. "And we're off again," he said. He opened his eyes. "Although not before someone built a little fort. What the hell is this?"

Huge stacks of crates balanced precariously around the cargo bay, six and seven crates high, creating canyon walls along both sides of the bay and leaving a wide open area in the middle. Jayne's head popped up from around the side of one of the stacks. "Had to, Mal. Kaylee called in and said she was comin' with stabilizing whatevers and we didn't know how much room they'd take up. No one told me they wuz little things size of a ham sandwich."

"You didn't know what stabilizing mounts were?" Mal demanded. He crossed his arms over his chest. "No one on this ship knew what stabilizing mounts were?"

"Wish to three green hells I did, I wouldn't had to lift those gorram crates so high. Why? Do you know what stabilizin' mutts look like?"

"Me? No! But someone around here besides Kaylee ought to. Zoe, I'm thinking we need to... where's Zoe?"

The two men looked around, but Zoe was nowhere to be seen. "Took off for her bunk again," Jayne said. Mal frowned, then shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Gonna have a lot to do this trip," he said. "But first, there's... Jayne? You been up to something?"

Jayne looked wary. "Why? Somebody said I was? People lie, Mal."

"No, that ain't it. You..." Mal took a step closer and sniffed. He smiled. "You smell like flowers in the sunshine, Jayne."

"That ain't me! That ain't me! It's this ointment stuff doc give me to... I'm gonna go work out. You wanna work out? I need to do a couple sets, maybe ten or twelve. I'm gonna—" He took a deep whiff of himself. His nose crinkled. "Gorram it! How many crates I gotta move to get rid of this?"

Mal grinned. "I'll leave you to your... whatever. There's better ways for a man to work up a sweat."

* * *

"Inara, I always hoped I'd be able to sample your skills someday. I have to say, it was certainly worth the wait."

"Go to hell, Mal," Inara said sweetly.

"I think I'm there. You have to get military training to make chili that powerful?" Mal wiped his moist forehead with a large napkin, leaned back from the dinner table, and smiled. Around him the rest of the crew made various appreciative remarks about deserts, burning coals, volcanoes, and flaming tongues. Inara Serra, Companion, House of Sihnon, stunningly beautiful, a professional lover of some of the most important men and women alive, currently on indeterminate hiatus, watched everyone eat the meal she'd prepared and tried not to look too pleased. It got easier when Mal kept going.

"Looks like the way to man's heart really is through his stomach. Not the direction I would have expected you to take, truth to tell."

She raised one elegant eyebrow. "I know all the many ways to a man's heart. When you're involved, through the stomach is the only palatable course."

Between them the others moaned, as if being presented with another episode of a very familiar dinner theater. Kaylee rolled her eyes. "Captain, I thought you guys weren't gonna fight no more. Inara's a great cook. Everything was wonderful, Inara."

"Never said there wouldn't be fightin'," Mal said. "It just ain't the kind that needs medical attention afterwards. This here's more along the lines of bloodless skirmishes."

"I can't draw blood? Pity, I was about to start in on your new look," Inara said, pointed looking at the plain shirt, drab pants, and mud-covered boots he was still wearing.

"I was in disguise, in a very delicate political situation. Now I know you don't know much about intrigue that happens away from the sheets, so—"

"Disguised as what? A mudpie?"

"Ain't easy hiding my noble visage. Think I should have gone with some big ol' shorts and a flowery shirt?"

Mal, Inara, and most of the rest laughed at the image and then froze solid, remembering too late that the member of their crew who had favored such attire was last seen with a harpoon through his chest and that his widow was sitting between them. Zoe, unsmiling, bit into her bread again. She chewed carefully, swallowed, and looked around. "Is this the part where you abruptly remember my dead husband and apologize for living?" She set the mug down, carefully. "Don't. Makes no difference to me and everyone's getting whiplash trying to talk around me."

"All right, then," Mal said. "Time to bring something up, then. Should we hire a pilot?"

"What? No! River's been doing so good!" Kaylee said, still flustered. "Why do we need someone else?"

"We keep using her as a thug-detector on jobs, leaves us no one to raise the ship during our panicky getaway. 'Sides, she's good, but Wash was great. I got used to 'great.'"

It seemed to Inara that the edges of Zoe's mouth might've curled up a little at that, but it might have been a shadow. Best not to ask.

"We got one good pilot, one good engineer, one good doctor. Seems to me we need more than that."

"We take on more crew, we split the take more ways," Jayne said. "I don't see my wage getting any bigger that way."

"A new person might mean a new Fed," Simon said. "We don't know if River and I are still on the wanted list." Beside him River nodded. Inara glanced at her. Did she look distracted? She was darting back and forth with her eyes, looking at everybody like someone was giving her a headache and she wanted to know who. Poor thing. Inara suspected the answer was "everybody." River turned to her very deliberately with a look like a puppy offered a treat when she expected a whack, and Inara's heart broke just a little bit more for her.

Leaving this ship and its crew had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. They were getting too close, she was feeling connected, related, intimate, all the things that complicated her life. The way she felt about Kaylee, the others, and especially the way she was starting to feel about Mal, it was just too much. Inara knew what happened when you let people inside.

And then events transpired, and Mal came to rescue her and do something noble, like he always did, and she found she couldn't leave him again. She hadn't tried working as a Companion since then. Which wasn't that long, really, but she was no closer to deciding what to do. So, for now, she cooked. And watched. And waited.

"Neither of you are wrong," Mal said. "So that leaves just us, and what with the Alliance getting all hissy it looks like we'll be stayin' mostly to ourselves for a bit. So here's what we're gonna do. Trip to Rea's gonna take—"

"Twelve days, three and half hours," River said.

"—so we got some time to kill. We're gonna start cross-training." Groans and expressions of shock, disgust, and confusion circled the table. "Little Kaylee, can you teach me how to fix this boat?"

"Um... yeah. I mean, I guess so. Enough to rig stuff for emergencies, and stuff, if you want."

"Good," Mal said. "You shouldn't be the only one here that can fix a flat. Now, Inara's taken over the cooking detail, for which we are all grateful, and I recollect that Companions also get medical training."

"EMT and life-saving measures," Inara responded promptly. "As well as certain advanced classes in physiology."

"I don't doubt it. So from now on you need to spend more time with the good doctor here, catching up on your first aid and combat medicine. Doc gets hit, we need someone can medic him while the rest of us is shooting someone. And the doc get beat up every other day, seems like. Calm down, doc," he said, waving Simon back into his seat. Kaylee kissed him on the cheek as he sat back down. "No one's expecting you to become a brawler."

"Not with those arms," Jayne said. Simon glared at him.

"But it wouldn't hurt you a bit to pick up a few defensive moves. So plan on getting tossed around a bit for the next few weeks while you learn how to defend yourself."

Jayne sat up straight. "Captain Reynolds? I would like to volunteer my tireless, dedicated services for this important responsibility."

"I'm touched. Forget it, Zoe'll teach him," Mal said. Zoe remained impassive. Simon's relief spread across his face. Then he looked at Zoe again. His smile faltered slightly.

"Why her?" Jayne asked, plainly disappointed.

"'Cause you'd bounce his head off the deck over and over for the fun of it. She'll bounce his head off the deck over and over to teach him how to stop people from doing that. But I do want you to teach anyone who'll learn about firearms, including target practice whenever we're on the ground and have spare time." Jayne grunted, apparently appeased.

"I can't wait," Simon grumbled. Zoe saluted him with a chopstick.

"That's the uninspiring spirit I expect from you," Mal said. "This is gonna continue long after this trip, until everybody here can at least fake every other job, so don't nobody start looking ahead to the end of school." He glanced at Zoe. "Job we're in, people tend to get hurt. We can't afford to have irreplaceable crew. Everybody here's got something to learn, everyone's got something to teach. Now, we'll all need to—"

River had been sitting quietly, holding her forehead. Now she rose gracefully and walked around the table to stand in front of Inara.

"I want you to teach me," she said.

The room went utterly still, with River waiting patiently and Inara staring at her with her mouth slightly open and everyone else blasted into a state of shock.

Simon broke first. "River, what are you doing?"

River kept her eyes on Inara. "You can't teach me everything, Simon. I want to know what she knows." She held out her hand. "Will you teach me?"

Inara stared at her for a long time. River remained serene. Finally she nodded and took River's hand in her own. Pointedly ignoring Mal's look of worry, Kaylee's look of confusion, Simon's look of blossoming outrage, and Jayne's look of... well, Jayne, she smiled.

"Of course I will."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – The Man Who Fought Back

It began slowly. Stories like that always do.

When the riot was going on and blood was being spilled no one stopped and pondered over who did what first. Fists were flying, buildings were burning, the cursed soldiers were easy targets everywhere you looked, there were plenty of weapons in the form of bricks and lumber and dad's old rifle, who had time to chat?

It was hours later, when the temporary barracks the local constables had set up for the additional troops was a blackened hole in the dirt, when smoke rose from a dozen pitched battles, when the soldiers -- the ones that were still alive -- were huddled inside barricaded government buildings, far from the maddened crowds, that was when people had time to wonder..

The soldiers had fought back desperately to contain a maddened populace that outnumbered them many times over. Many of them, them that believed in the dignity of man and the ultimate righteousness of the Alliance's cause, did their best to calm the situation. They were the ones who had made friends among the citizens of Persephone while they were stationed here, and in more than one situation that respect saved lives. Several were granted safe havens when the rampaging crowds drunk on their own righteousness would have killed any solder outright. One sergeant and his platoon holed up with several local families on the same block and protected them from all attackers, military or civilian. As in every war, big and small, there were stories of heroism and nobility on both sides.

The troops in this mismatched battle without safe retreats or friendly defenders were forced to become more brutal and relentless just to survive. Some ( a small minority, for what it's worth) had been brutal from the day they arrived; this just gave them license to cut loose what few shreds of decency had survived so long. That didn't do much for crowd control but such atrocities did serve to turn previously innocent bystanders into dedicated insurgents.

By nightfall there were hundreds dead, martial law had been declared, and the fighting was contained to the central areas of the city. Locals stayed in their homes, frightened, with the lights low and the curtains drawn, and there is no more fertile ground than that for a good story.

"Browncoat started it," Jack Finston said. He stood by the window and moved the shutters aside just enough to see out. The glow of distant flames danced across a thin slice of his face. His wife Emily looked up from where she had been dishing out cold stew to their children. Her brother Groder, his clothes still dirty and bloody, sat staring off into the darkness.

"What do you mean?" Groder asked without turning.

"Heard about it from Frank's boy. Purplebelly was beating a little girl in the docks. Browncoat came up and slugged him, sweet as you please, right in the street, and all hell broke loose."

Emily handed him a bowl as he came back to the table. "Janyce next door said it was ten soldiers rapi—" She stopped, glanced at the children, and continued with her voice lowered. "--bothering some pregnant girl, but she didn't know who saved the poor thing." Emily shook her head. "We always knew those men were beasts, don't know why anyone's surprised they started acting like it."

"They were... bothering... the girl's brother, right in front of her," Groder said hollowly. Emily's hand flew to her mouth; Finston lowered his head and muttered something underneath his breath that might have been a prayer. "I was there. The first soldier did it to him and then held him down while the rest of the bastards lined up, told her she was next. Laughed at her. She screamed and screamed, and no one did anything. I didn't do anything." His right hand was tightly gripping the left but it wasn't enough; they were both shaking uncontrollably. "Except for one man. One Browncoat. He stepped up and did something, like they tried to do years ago when the purplebellies were throwing their weight around and calling it civilization. We shoulda listened, back during the war. They tried to tell us."

He stared at his trembling hands, and on the ruddy stains on them that he wouldn't let Emily scrub off. Each one of those stains was another murdering soldier that wouldn't come back, and despite his aching confusion and despair he felt a fierce pride in that. "Well, I'm gorram listening now."

Crowds gathered around small fires in the town square, merchants and farmers loading their weapons – some old, some captured -- and readying themselves for another assault on the parliament building where some of the shattered remains of the military were holding siege. And while they prepared their plans and doctored the injured and comforted the dying, they talked of the Man Who Fought Back. He was tall, they agreed, and noble of bearing. Clean shaven, hair the color of turned earth, eyes that cut through falsehoods like arc lasers, and lightning fast fighting skills such as they had never seen before. All wrapped up in a leather coat the color of good turned earth, a coat that went on for miles, engulfing soldiers and acting with a mind of its own.

Inside the building, behind the piles of overturned desks and heaps of filing cabinets, terrified soldiers passed bottles, held on to their discipline with chattering teeth, and whispered about the leader of the Eavesdown riots. Seven feet tall, carrying a gun with a two foot barrel that spat fire. Concussion rifles had no effect on him and he beat an armored man bloody with just his fists, they said, and the murmur went down the line.

Various small underground groups who had been quietly planning and arming themselves for an uprising were taken by surprise when it exploded without them, but that didn't stop them from quickly taken advantage of it. Armories were liberated. Regional police stations were breached and taken. The groups met each other in secret and under fire, and they found enough common ground to band together. Word was sent to other friendly factions on nearby moons, nearby worlds where the Alliance was also treading with a heavy boot, to spread the word that the uniformed bullies weren't unstoppable after all.

And each group assumed the Man Who Fought Back was a leader in one of the other groups, someone who had a reason to stay hidden. More than a few of the underground movements were ex-Independents, and they rallied around their own even as they wondered who and where he was. Was he protecting family, loved ones? Was he a government man himself, sick to his soul over the injustice committed in the name of security? Or had he left Persephone to go help other oppressed people? Maybe even now he was speeding towards another moon where unsuspecting Alliance soldiers were running roughshod over good folks' lives. More power to him, they thought, and they fought all the harder.

It began slowly, but it got twice as big with every telling. Stories like that always do.


End file.
